Nothing Left
by siriusuk
Summary: Everything and everyone was destroyed in the Second War, the only thing Hermione has left is Remus...but will he push her away like he does to everyone else?
1. Heavy Things Won't Fly

_Disclaimer: All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling, the plot is my own creation._

**Chapter One: Heavy Things Won't Fly**

Remus' gaze was not caught on the wavy currents of grey-blue clouds hanging low in the sunless sky above, although soothing the sight was to war-tired eyes. He imagined it was the perfect epitome of how they felt then, standing in the very belly of gloom with a dreary, sopping blanket thrown over their heads, blocking out the brilliant rays of a burning sun somewhere beyond. He gripped the damp wood of the balustrade in an impatient, anxious manner. It was beginning to get cold. Faint droplets of chilling rain began to land on his hare hands and face, adding onto the coupling list of things creeping under what he once thought was his fairly thick skin.

Remus did not consider himself an impatient man. Things did not just "get to" him as they did with other people. He never had his feelings take control, or allow them to. Perhaps every man had his breaking point, though. Perhaps his would be everything adding up to this single moment.

She had contacted him, merely wanting the company of a familiar face. There were so few of those left, he knew. The war had taken away most of those she knew and loved. It had been the same for him all those years ago at the end of the first war. Remus chose to avoid familiar faces. They brought back more familiar faces, ones intangible and far away. He'd had enough of being tormented by memories and familiar faces, but he couldn't turn her down when she asked if they could meet up. There was a quiet desperation in her voice, saying she might break if he said no. Sure, he might've sealed his own doom by saying yes, but he could deal with himself breaking. He didn't think he could deal with hers.

The yes had led him here, to this unknown Muggle town on the brink of the ocean, to this large pier reaching out sixty or seventy feet into the freezing winter waters of the Atlantic Ocean. They had been standing here a long time, sparsely talking, too often drowning in the quietness they perpetuated themselves. It was normal enough, Remus thought, wanting a familiar presence nearby. She had no one close left since the Second War. He was the closest one still alive, and they had never really been good friends. The had been pupil, teacher. Nothing more.

Yet there was an itching awkwardness beneath the formality. Remus had sensed it. He didn't know what it was, which somewhat added to the frustration. It made him uneasy. He felt that anything he said could be the possible trigger of a breakdown or some other exuberant emotional reaction from her, and how would he manage with either one of those, if they came? Remus was not prone to emotional reactions, and eh was not exactly skilled with handling them. If there was ever a true stoic who existed in the world, it was him.

He allowed his eyes to look at her, regard her features meticulously. Her dark eyes, the deepest brown against the pale blue sky. The pink tinge on her cheeks against the smooth, ivory color of her skin. Even in the mild winter wind she wore her hair down. The thick, slightly frizzing locks of russet curls, hanging halfway between her shoulders and elbow, swayed with the wind. Being the man that he was, Remus could not deny her feminine appeal, which was another thing that added to his edginess. His thoughts were profanation; she was his student once. He had never allowed himself relationships of that nature with anyone as it was. Remus was a werewolf, after all, knowing far too well the inevitable sad end of them all. But so many years of never knowing deep intimacy eventually ate away at a man until he came to the point where there was no barrier holding him back anymore.

Remus gripped the balustrade a little bit tighter.

"Professor ..." Hermione said carefully, and he wondered then if there was perhaps anything within her power of articulating which would be the trigger of his own cessation of control. "...how do you do it?

He felt his muscles tense slightly, throat suddenly dry. Remus glanced away, but did not sound at all deterred when he spoke.

"How do I do what?"

He words were laced so finely with the perfect ease and indifference he was practically infamous for. Remus felt somewhat disgusted with himself, though. Did he not know when to stop lying?

"How," Hermione whispered almost inaudibly, her voice trembling, "do you handle the razor-sharp shards of a broken world?"

Poetry at a time like this. Well, it was a time that appeared to call for poetry, and he couldn't deny that it shook im immensely. The so-called "razor-sharp shards" struck him as she spoke those fateful words, cutting his unsuspecting and wary skin. Remus stilled his outer self to complete immobility, refusing to show the affliction her words had elicited within him. It had been like that for as long as he could remember; burying everything under the surface from the prying eyes of others. Why change now when it had become instinct to hide? He had accomplished hiding for son long, living in the background, out of people's worries and concerns. Worries and concerns tended to bring people together. Remus had always tried to do the exact opposite: push people away. You couldn't very well push people away if they were fretting over you constantly. It was simple enough logic.

He had to suppress a barking laugh, though. Remus didn't handle any of them, actually. He just ... hid them. He was good at hiding things. Too good, perhaps.

"Do people ever really handle anything?" he asked Hermione, turning toward her once more. She stood like a wavering tower against the blowing wind, the strong resolve she was once so well known for all but gone from her now weary bones. Remus thought that if the wind's strength picked up even just a little bit right then, she would've toppled to her ruin.

"Sometimes," she said, her gaze faltering from the sky, connecting with his own.

Remus studied her for a moment. Hermione was still a very young girl. She hadn't learned near as much as he expected she would have after all those years beside ... Harry. Remus swallowed uneasily. Even the was hard to think about. It was a year ago, but it still remained a fresh wound upon his flesh. He looked out to the ocean, the same indifferent expression on his face.

"People never handle thing, Hermione," Remus told her, speaking with an even voice that belittled the passionate emotion behind his words. "They just harbor them until their docks are full." He paused shortly, noting the soggy texture of the balustrade's wood beneath his fingers. "And some people have very large docks."

She was quiet momentarily. "Are you one of those people, Professor Lupin?"

His eyes drifted downward to the water below. There was something in the way she called him Professor…some sort of holy reverence lodged deeply within the title. Was she expecting to learn something from him now? Was she trying to strip him of his inhibitions, bowing at his feet with the sort of concern aimed at catching him off his guard, ridding him of his shield, exposing the deepest caverns inside of his hell to her? Was she that eager for knowledge that she would break him to acquire it?

Well, she was hanging at the edge of her own threads. Anything was possible, Remus reasoned. Even from Hermione Granger.

He looked up at her, matching the intensity of her stare with one of his own, and said the most personally honest thing yet since they had reunited after almost a year of separation: "Maybe."

Hermione glanced down, biting her bottom lip, and nodded delicately. Unsanctioned thoughts crept underneath the almost impenetrable doorway to his mind, but Remus shook them away as best as he could. Yet he couldn't help but feel as though another ship was pulling into his already dangerously overflowing harbor, searching desperately for an empty dock, finding none.

"I'm tired," Hermione suddenly said, wrapping her arms around her middle, bunching up her coat.

This statement felt like an enormous relief for Remus. He knew he had to get out of her company, or something he might regret would happen. He casually pushed himself off the balustrade, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his long jacket.

"I could walk you to—"

"No," Hermione said firmly, shaking her head. She lifted her eyes to his. A sudden fear pierced Remus deep within, freezing his nerves. He recognized that look on her face: the needy look of a lost soul, looking for comfort, protection, companionship of some sort. He had seen the look so often in the mirror, how could he not?

"I…" Hermione trailed off. "I'd rather not go home. There's no one else there. Could I…" she paused again, looking up at Remus pleadingly, desperately, "…could I stay with you?"

There were the five words destined to damn him to hell.

He had to say no, but how could he? He couldn't. It was…too cruel, too unfair on her part. Hermione didn't deserve that kind of treatment, that kind of neglect from someone she trusted and admired. One person had already suffered too long from such things before – wasn't that enough?

But he would be taking a risk with this. This was a young, impressionable woman, Remus reminded himself. That is, if his mind would stop calculating her under 'child'. The task was admittedly hard; the days in which he taught, Hermione kept coming back fresh and new, as if they had occurred only yesterday. How old was she then? Thirteen, was it? Yes, that was correct. She was only eighteen now. His brain didn't seem to find much of a difference there. One didn't change much in five years, he thought. Or at least he never did.

However, in rival with his logic, Remus' instincts kicked in. He felt a somewhat paternal protection regarding the young girl standing before him take over. She asked for nothing he couldn't offer. He owed her this at least: whatever comfort he could give. Hermione deserved that. He did, too, once. But fate didn't deal out his cards accordingly; chance ruled all things in this happenstance-like universe. Remus now had the chance to give someone something he never had. There were benefits in such an act. There always were.

A short-lived return to happiness, he deemed, could be one of them.

His mind finally decided the risk was worth that.

"Of course," he said. "I think I could use the company myself."

He watched as a refreshing flood of relief washed over Hermione. She exhaled deeply, glanced down, a reassured smile on her face. Hermione looked back up. "Thank you," she said.

"No problem," he answered, a soft smile on his lips.

_Another lie_, Remus thought bitterly.

- - - - -

The journey to his house didn't take too long. It was a small flat, not much on the eyes, quite plain and under-furnished. Warm brown seemed to be the dominant color. Remus noted this with a bit of fresh incredulity. Hermione would blend in effortlessly with her new surroundings. He shook his head, having chagrined himself, shrugged off his jacket, and hung it by the door.

"Make yourself at home," he said, trying to sound as welcoming as possible, not tired and wary. He watched as Hermione's gaze roved carefully over everything in sight, taking in the Muggle items as well as the magical ones. She eventually approached the sofa and sat down, not bothering to take off her coat.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" Remus asked her. She looked pretty chilled. Pretty being the key word. Remus discreetly bit the inside of his lip, mentally reproaching himself for the intruding human thoughts his were having. They were not helping him.

Hermione glanced up, smiling softly. "No," she said, "I'm alright."

Remus only nodded.

She looked away, but his gaze remained on her. He noticed her nervousness, the way her fingers played with the strings of her coat, how she gently bit her bottom lip. Remus could almost _smell_ the fear in her.

What was wrong?

But he broke his gaze and went into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee. As he gathered a mug and the other supplies, wanting to do it the Muggle way, Remus wondered about the possible reasons for the way she was acting. Did she have a problem with her aunt? Hermione had been living with her father's – _late_ father, he reminded himself – sister, as he had learned earlier. She didn't say anything about a fight or a disagreement, but it was a possibility. Was she afraid to go home? Wait…she said it was empty before they left the pier? What did that mean?

"Professor?"

Remus, startled by the interruption, turned to see Hermione standing in the doorway of the kitchen. The light from the living room outlined her darkened frame with a golden glow, and he realized for the first time that he hadn't even turned on the kitchen light. Remus briefly panicked, wondering what she was thinking, then made for the switch and flicked it on. The kitchen flooded with artificial light, and he glanced over at Hermione. She was looking up at the light fixture on the ceiling.

"Very Muggle," she mused softly. Her eyes drifted down to his.

Remus shrugged a bit awkwardly. "I like having both," he replied.

Hermione nodded, then continued to gaze about. He was surprised when she didn't ask anything about his leaving the light off. Truth be told, he often didn't bother when his eyesight was so exceptional anyway. In an odd way, he somewhat embraced the darkness, being so close to it, after all.

Remus quietly cleared his throat, walking back over to the coffee pot. He frowned, realizing he'd have wait awhile for it to be ready. Wanting to speed up the process, he took out his wand, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a spell under his breath. The coffee pot hissed twenty-five minutes before it was supposed to, and Remus went immediately to pouring himself a cup. He knew it would be terribly hot, but quickly drank some anyway, grimacing at the burn it caused his mouth.

Remus turned around, expecting to see Hermione still in the doorway, but instead found her right behind him. He almost dropped the cup in alarm.

Remus could not believe how on edge his nerves were. And this coffee would not help him, he mused grimly. "Hermione--"

"You," she said pointedly, pulling out her wand, "should--" aiming at the coffee cup in his hands, "--not--" murmuring a spell quietly beneath her breath, "--drink--" lowering her wand, "--hot coffee--" glancing up into his eyes, "--fresh off the burner."

He was about to say something when she reached out and took the cup from his hands. Hermione broke eye contact briefly to turn it around in her hold, then glanced back up as she raised it to her lips and sipped gingerly at its contents. Remus merely stared at her, raised his eyebrows, but inside he was reeling.

She was close. Too close. He smelled a hundred different things in the air between them: tension, vanilla, need, warmth, fear, coffee, desire…flowers. Yes, that was flowers. Was she deliberately doing this? Well, of course, she was deliberately doing this, but was she consciously aware of its effects? Remus wanted to think so, but the better half of his mind had to doubt it. Hermione would_ never_…

Would she?

The cup left her mouth. Without lowering her eyes, she carefully licked her lips. It was done in an innocent enough fashion, but it ignited something not so innocent in Remus. He looked away uncomfortably, sidling his way out from between the counter and Hermione, desperate for breathing room. This was not going well for him. He needed to clear his head, not stand so close to her…

"Professor," Hermione said hurriedly, and he heard her footsteps behind him, "your coffee--"

He shook his head, continuing his way into the living room. "I'm fine. You can have it, Hermione."

Remus wasn't trying to be rude, but he really couldn't risk taking that cup from her. When her footsteps stopped suddenly, though, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. Remus turned around. He was surprised to see her standing in the middle of the kitchen, her gaze caught somewhere on the floor at her feet, a look of utter dejection on her face as her muscles contracted and shook.

"Hermione?" Remus asked worriedly, sensing the warning in the air. "Hermione, are you alright?"

His instincts kicked in, and before he knew it he was running towards her. The cup shattered against the tiles; the muscles in her legs gave out. Remus caught Hermione before she sank entirely to the floor. She lay limp in his hold, her body convulsing with sobs. She fell into him, burying her face against his shirt, crying in almost utter silence. Remus wrapped his arms around her securely, stroked a gentle hand through her hair. Hermione sobbed even harder.

The scent of her hair overwhelmed his sensitive nose, and he found himself unwillingly drawn towards it, nuzzling the soft curls. Vanilla stirred the more primal of animal instincts within, and Remus was losing himself.

He had thought of better reasons than this.

But better reasons had left him, as the questions and the purpose behind them had as well. She was tattered and torn, broken and bruised, and he could make that better, he could. If only for a little while…

Remus raised her head with a hand under her chin. Hermione's deep brown eyes glistened brightly, her nose was pink, as well as her eyes, and her cheeks were stained with streams of salty tears. There were no nagging voices, no devil or angel on his shoulders, nothing and no one to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. And he almost did. He almost kissed her, almost defiled her, almost besmirched what innocence she had left after everything she had been through.

And he never would have forgiven himself for it.

"I'm tired of feeling death, Remus," Hermione whispered, he warm, small body pressed up against the length of his, and in a brief moment his mind registered how she hadn't called him Professor this time. It was odd, but not odd enough to snap him out of his sudden stupor.

"I…I understand, Hermione…" Of course he did. Remus J. Lupin of all people could understand that.

"I…" Hermione blinked hard, fresh tears falling from underneath black lashes, "I want to feel life again…"

Then it happened.

_She _kissed _him_.

His first reaction was to push her away, but like pliable wood he bent, submitting to the onslaught of senses begging to be awakened. Fire. He felt fire. Hot fire in his mouth; hot fire in his chest; hot fire in his hands. He would burn in it. Her gentle tongue touched his ever so slightly, and Remus' nerves rattled at the contact. His knees almost gave way beneath him. It had been too long, far too long…

He suddenly kissed back with equal fervor, but then something a little stronger. Remus bumped her into the counter. He hadn't known he was pushing her. Her fingers were in his hair; combing, tugging. She was still a young lady, and he was more than a grown man – so why in the world was he the one moaning?

Her lips left his mouth, and Remus almost begged them back until he felt the warm wetness of her tongue inside his ear. His eyes fluttered closed, and he shuddered. He bloody _shuddered_.

It wasn't until he felt her hands working on his belt buckle that Remus snapped back to reality.

He pushed her away, resulting more in pushing himself away considering she was the one against the counter. It wasn't rough, but it had enough force to get the point clearly across. Remus had let it get too far. His heart was beating way too fast; his nerves were trembling from a mixture of excitement and disbelief and anger. Shame reddened his face as he looked down and fixed his belt, but Hermione just stared at him, confused. Not angry. Confused.

"Wh--what's wrong?" she asked quietly, her voice unsteady, broken.

"That," Remus said pointedly, looking back up, "_shouldn't_ have happened."

She looked as though a new rush of tears would overwhelm her. "Wh--why not?"

He stared at her irately. But the irritation was directed at himself, not her. Yet she didn't know that. "I am _nineteen_ years older that you, Hermione. It just isn't _right_."

A furious scowl overtook her trembling features. "I am a grown _women_. I can make my own choices and--"

"And I'm a grown man," Remus bit back. "So can _I_."

The anger suddenly disappeared, and Hermione gripped her arms, the stricken lost puppy look overcoming her face once again. "You're not my professor anymore. There's nothing wrong with it--"

"EVERYTHING'S _WRONG_ WITH IT!" Remus roared, surprising even himself with the ferocity of his voice. He had to hide from her; she was getting in. She wasn't allowed in; he didn't have room for this. He couldn't handle this. She used to be his _student_, for Merlin's sake! She was half his age! He was a _werewolf!_ Didn't she get that? Didn't she understand? It was wrong. It was so wrong, wrong, _wrong_--

Hermione looked in the fits of a brewing rage herself. "_Everything_ that happens in this godforsaken world is wrong!" she shouted. "Harry dying! Ron dying! Dumbledore dying! _Sirius _dying!" she emphasized , causing Remus to flinch from the harshness the name did not deserve to be said in. "Every _goddamn_ thing in this world is _wrong_ and they still _happen_! They happen and they happen and they just won't stop--"

She fell to her knees on the tiles. Hermione retracted into a secure ball against the counter, wrapping her arms around her legs. She wept and wept, and Remus could only stare. He couldn't run to help her; he knew what would happen if he did.

"That's why they need to stop, Hermione."

As if he had said the magic words, she slowly sobered up. Stilling her sobs, she shakily got to her feet. Hermione turned to look at him for a long moment, and Remus wondered what she was letting herself see in him. She couldn't possibly need him. No, she didn't. Hermione was strong and independent. Hermione would find her way through this. She didn't need false comfort or temporary physical highs to drag her away from reality. She was better than that. She was so much better than that.

"You're right," she said, wiping her tear-stricken cheeks with her sleeve. "They need to stop."

Her eyes left his, and she walked towards him, one careful step at a time. Remus' breath hitched, but she passed right on by without looking at him. Relieved, he turned around, watching her head for the door. She picked up her coat from the couch, casting a weary glance at him. Hermione appeared to fight with words within. Finally, "Thank you…Professor."

Remus closed his eyes, hearing the door shut with a soft click behind her.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, and I will be posting chapter 2 asap! Please read and review!**


	2. Down to Earth I Fell

_Disclaimer: All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling; the plot is my own creation._

**Chapter Two: Down to Earth I Fell**

Remus did not expect to be affected this badly.

His head swam with overwhelming nausea, but not much from ideas and thoughts and emotions as from the alcohol in his bloodstream.

He never could hold his alcohol very well.

Just then, the bottle slipped from his clumsy fingers, cracked against the floor, sending a spray of Ogden's Old Firewhisky across the wooden panels. The whisky soaked the bottom of his trousers and his socks, and he wouldn't have sworn if not for the sudden lurch of sickness in his stomach. The world spun around him dangerously, and stumbled, catching a hold of the nearest object – a doorframe – and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the carpet of the room he was leaning into.

Remus fell to his knees ungracefully, not even able to register the painful twinge in them from the fall over the heavy cloud in his mind. He heaved in deep, shuddering breaths, leaning against the doorframe for support, clutching it almost brutally. If he had looked, he would have seen bone-white knuckles in a terrifying death grip. But he didn't look.

He managed a single coherent thought: _I'm going to have one _hell _of a mess to clean up when I'm sober again._

Remus briefly wondered how long that would take. He felt – as if such a small word could even justify the drastic change at _all – worse_ than before. His head was pounding; it felt as if all the thoughts and feelings in his head were going through a torrential storm, sloshing about in the tempest-tossed sea within the walls of his brain.

Simply put, it was _not_ a pleasant feeling.

Remus managed to stagger to his feet, the little pride he had appalled how he even found that a difficult task to accomplish. With shaky footsteps, routine falters, and occasional grappling, he made his way to the coffee table in the opposite direction. He reached down, gripped the smooth wand within his fingers, and almost tumbled forward, but miraculously held an upright stance. Remus aimed the wand at himself, slurred a sobriety spell, and immediately felt a tingle rush through his body – then suddenly realized he felt frighteningly awake to the world.

He took a few languid steps and collapsed backwards into the sofa. He longingly wished the cushions would pull him in, smother him, do something to end the intense flood of guilt and shame inside of himself. But nothing happened.

There were so many things wrong with what he had done, with what he let her do. So many things wrong with how amazingly _beautiful_ it felt to have her lips on his, how unbelievably _wonderful_ if was to feel the heat of her skin against his own, how much he wanted her – needed her? That was worse. So much worse…

He felt the back of his eyes sting, flooding them with a hot wetness. It trickled off, sticking to his eyelashes, but never enough to fall off of them. Remus wiped the wetness from his eyes with a sleeve, took in a shaky breath, and rested his head against the small arm pillow at the corner of the sofa. He lay there for a long time, willing sleep to override his mind, but it stubbornly refused to come, and Remus realized with a pang of anger and sadness that he could not make it.

But there were spells and drugs that he could easily send him to a blissful unconscious state.

Yet he couldn't use either one. Remus felt more so that he deserved to be plagued by these demons in his head, to be mocked and berated and slashed at until he bled them to sleep like a peaceful child in the arms of oblivion.

He didn't deserve peace, he thought. He didn't deserve it at all.

Now long he lay there he couldn't even remember when he got up. He did know that it was raining, though. Powerful, heavy rain, pounding against the building in a steady onslaught of beat after beat after beat, going so fast that his mind couldn't comprehend them individually. Remus walked over to a window, flipped the latch, and pulled it open. The wind was not blowing in his direction, so the water didn't suddenly fly through the opening to his flat. But it fell as thick as a waterfall outside.

Remus reached out his hand, palm upward and cupped, to catch some of the falling rain. For the duration that his hand was outside, his sleeve became soaked, and finally he pulled it in, splashing the water on his face. It trickled down his chin, fell onto his shirt. It was freezing. As Remus pushed the window back down and latched it to, his nerves shook slightly.

Her tear-stained face would not pass from beneath his eyes or out of his memory.

Did he really have to push her away?

As soon as the thought came, he banished it from his mind. Remus couldn't think that way. Of course he had to push her away. He had not other choice. No other choice was allowed. He was the grown-up here; it was up to him to lay out the rules, to know the difference between right and wrong. If Hermione didn't, Remus had to.

Otherwise…well, Remus really didn't know what otherwise was, in all honesty.

Wrong constituted an opposing party to the said situation, but who was opposing it besides him? And he wasn't even wholeheartedly opposing it, though he was in some ways. There were certain feelings, certain emotions that thought it was a wonderful idea – perfect, even. They needed each other, didn't they? Who else did they have left? Who else knew, to the extent, of what they knew about what happened?

Who else understood the loss?

Who?

With an overwhelming wave of longing, he realized that only she did. Only he did. No one else. No one else left alive that already had the necessary bond he and Hermione already had. No one.

He didn't only need her, though.

He wanted her.

Remus admitted it to himself, though very reluctantly.

Merlin, she wasn't beautiful, but she _was_. Remus couldn't really explain it. Then there was her intellect, her personality – so much of it which reminded him of himself when he was younger. All these lovely things, thrown together in one young girl who used to sit in his class with her hand first to shoot up in the air as he beamed knowingly, the answer on the tip of her tongue. He closed his eyes at the memory, wanting to shut it away. Remus was able to see that she was a different person now, but it was so hard separating her form the eager schoolgirl he taught way back when.

_Way back when? Jesus, Moony, it was only_ five _years ago._

It almost sounded like Sirius' voice in his head.

Almost.

It _was_ only five years ago. Maybe that's why it was so hard. He hadn't had enough time to separate them. But did you ever really separate anybody from a person they used to be?

James was always the same James.

Sirius was always the same Sirius. Even when he had supposedly murdered James, Lily, Peter, and a street full of random Muggles. He was still fun, lovable, mischievous Sirius.

Peter was…always the same Peter. Even when Remus hated him with every fiber of his soul, he couldn't forget the stumbling blonde-haired boy he grew up with. Peter was always still Peter. Even when Remus hated him; even when Remus saw him die.

Hermione would always be Hermione, then, wouldn't she? Of course she would. Just because his feelings toward her had changed, didn't mean she was no longer Hermione. There was no escaping that.

But why was he so afraid?

Well…he honestly didn't know.

Maybe she didn't really want it, and he did.

That definitely scared him.

If he gave in, if he collapsed, she'd wake up in the morning, thank him – because good, righteous Hermione would always do that – and just get up and walk away. She might actually come back a few times, but what would make her stay? She probably wouldn't be able to withstand his company after something like that happened between them.

All the reasons he'd conjured, all the guilt and shame, all the strength it took to push her warm body away from his…all lies. All lies all brought forth because she had the power to break him and it frightened him. He knew it all along, knew he should have been careful, but he just wasn't careful enough. Hermione had him drawn tight across the board and he was splitting. She didn't mean it intentionally. No, she didn't. But there he was…and what could he do about it?

Besides stay away from her?

That was just as equally hard, though.

Remus wanted to go find her, search for her, tell her he didn't really mean what he said, that he was really just afraid. But he didn't know where to look or where to go, and he didn't think he yet had the power he needed to do such a thing.

And should he?

The rain pounded heavily against the building in answer to his inner turmoil.

Remus sank to the floor, back against the wall, burying his face in his hands, raking them through his hair.

Why did it all have to be so hard?

The rain continued to fall, and Remus just sat there, reeling with his thoughts of worries and dreams and wishing one of them would just win already. But nothing happened and nothing changed. The scenery remained, and no great question was answered for him in the splendid throes of an epiphany.

The rain simply fell.

Remus briefly wondered how deep the puddles were outside by now.

A knock sounded at his door.

His head jerked up. Remus stared at the solid wood, almost willing himself to see through it. Another set of knocks came, rattling the door.

His breath caught in his throat.

It couldn't be.

It just _couldn't _be.

Remus clambered to his feet. He hurried over to the door, his fingers closing around the handle, turning, pulling. All in a flash. His heart felt like any moment it would burst from his chest because of the excitement flooding through his veins, replacing his blood.

The door almost swung open, but he managed to make it look like he wasn't too eager to answer the sudden call at his door, though he was beyond being just eager.

Yet all of Remus' hopes were dashed with a rough blade when he saw an unfamiliar face standing at the open entrance to his flat. It was a Muggle, a man about his own age, dressed in a suit and very refined despite the fact that his clothes were partially wet. Remus noticed the umbrella at his side. The man had a strained look on his face, as if he wasn't happy being where he was. Remus tried not to register how disappointed he must have looked.

"I'm looking for Robin Spencer," the stranger said. "She's supposed to live on this floor, but I don't know where."

Remus nodded. He pointed down the hall to his left. "She's in Number 5," he told the Muggle.

The portly man nodded in a curt but short manner. "Thank you," he said briskly, turning to go the way Remus had pointed him.

Remus slowly shut the door to. He pressed his forehead to the cool wood, fingers still gripped tightly around the handle. Remus sighed deeply, feeling like punching his fist and breaking the solid boundary currently holding him up.

He didn't consider himself a violent man. Ever. Hell, he was always the _peace_maker.

But the present situation was not one he had ever been in before, and Remus had to bet that it was a great deal responsible for his recent divergence from character.

What would Sirius tell him to do?

_Stop wasting your life, Moony. Be happy for once even if it _kills_ you. You might as well die happy anyway – not as some sniveling little weasel licking his wounds, you complete daft _imbecile.

Remus couldn't tell if the thought was his or if Sirius was really speaking to him.

Imbecile wasn't a word Sirius would use, though, was it?

_Shut up, Moony, or you'll get it._

Remus faintly smiled. He still couldn't tell whose words they were, but it didn't really matter.

"_That's why they need to stop, Hermione."_

He didn't know why those sudden, fateful words he had spoken earlier came back to him then, but it was like a abrupt awakening to him to reality, a sudden realization of what needed to be done. Because this was wrong. All this hurt was wrong, and it needed to stop. Remus stood from the floor. He had to find her; he had to end this chaos. He had so much he needed to say, so much he needed to tell her, and--

"_You're right," she said. "They need to stop."_

Remus froze, his fingers tight on the collar of his jacket hanging by the front door.

Something felt very, very wrong about those words. Something about them chilled his bones with the power of ice.

What had she meant?

Remus searched back to the rest of the conversation desperately, needing to find their meaning, needing to understand the unheard depth lingering in the words when she had spoken them. There was something there he didn't catch the first time, something wrong, something ominous…

"_Everything that happens in this godforsaken world is wrong! … Every goddamn thing in this world is wrong and they still happen! They happen and they happen and they just won't stop--"_

"_That's why they need to stop, Hermione."_

"_You're right," she said. "They need to stop."_

The bottom of Remus' stomach almost fell out.

He nearly tore the jacket off its hook, grabbed his wand, and left the flat in a mad rush of overwhelming fear and wild desperation.

As he sprinted down the hallway and stairs, he realized how she had come to him, hoping to learn one last thing…

Remus didn't think that one last thing would be suicide.

**A/N: I hope you are enjoying so far:) Please read and review!**


	3. With Dripping Wings

_Disclaimer: All the characters belong to J.K Rowling, the plot is my own creation._

**Chapter Three: With Dripping Wings**

There was one problem with Remus' plan of saving Hermione.

He had no idea where she was.

And this was a fairly huge city.

Now, here he stood in the middle of the pouring rain, completely drenched and not to mention frozen to the marrow of his delicate bones. Well, maybe they weren't quite that delicate, sustaining all they had encountered over the many long and tumultuous years. Then again, they had become delicate from just that, worn down to their very fraying ends, barely managing the task of keeping his steady on his feet where he currently stood. His nerves weren't functioning well either; they shook visibly, fiercely, from the chilling sting of the rain and the anxiety stretching them far too thin than what he knew they could normally bear. He wavered, but caught a hold of the brick wall that was luckily right beside him. Remus rested, or – more properly – fell, against it.

He was exhausted, and for a good reason, too.

Remus had searched high and low throughout the city for her. Most the places were obviously not places where Hermione would even be caught dead in – Remus winced. Bad, bad choice of words. It seemed a little thick for him to even suspect of finding her in a library or a bookshop, but Remus admitted to himself that he was desperate and would look anywhere if it meant he might possibly find her there. After all, his hunch could be wrong. She could be perfectly safe. But Remus was not taking any chances. He was going to look everywhere to find her, but looking everywhere meant wasting time, and Remus could not waste anymore time. He had to find her. He _had_ to.

Gathering up whatever was left of his strength and resolve, Remus pushed himself away from the wall. He suddenly knew what he had to do. He had to use magic. Remus glanced around warily; there were Muggles everywhere. He needed to find a place where he could use magic. He needed magic for this. There was no way Remus was going to find Hermione anywhere if he didn't.

A pang of fear instantaneously shot through him. Why couldn't he think of this _earlier?_

But there was little time to think about that as Remus began walking forward, perhaps a little too fast for normalcy, but he wasn't worried too much about normalcy at the moment. There was an alleyway up ahead that he could hide in. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. It would _have_ to do.

Remus broke into a jog towards the alleyway's entrance. He sharply turned into it, catching the corner of the wall with his outstretched hand to keep himself from slipping on the wet ground. The alley was empty, thankfully, and he wasted no time grasping his wand, pulling it out, and muttering a complicated map spell he learned during seventh year. But not at Hogwarts, of course.

Over a hundred tiny beads of light shot out from the end of his wand, forming the ground of a city that looked very unfamiliar. Eventually, names of places began to form in some areas, and he noticed how this city bordered the ocean. After the entire map had finished, fine yellow lines produced the name "Blackpool" above the city.

Blackpool.

That's where Hermione and he were earlier. At Blackpool.

A single and solitary yellow bead of light, brighter than all the rest, darted out of the end of his wand and settled on the design of a pier by the beach.

A pier.

Remus said nothing, save a lone incantation, which dissipated the glowing map of Blackpool, and with a quiet _pop_, he Apparated.

- - - - -

It didn't seem likely or possible, but once Remus found himself standing on a damp beach shore, the rain had stopped. It took him a brief moment to realize how far Blackpool was from his residence, and the shock value wore off rather quickly. A cold breeze, filled with sea salt, assailed him in this damp state, and Remus cast a drying spell on himself. The water slowly vanished from his clothes and hair, and once he felt he was dry enough, he looked around for the pier.

It was between many others, but he saw it, standing firm and elongated, from the shore to the ocean's waters.

From where he stood, he could see nothing else.

Knowing the beach was probably closed by this time of day and that most Muggles didn't even go to beaches during this kind of weather, Remus kept his wand out as he ran across the firm, damp sand of the shore, footprints trailing in his wake.

He didn't stop to look to try to see anything, he just ran. Once Remus reached the pier, he raced up the steps, heart pounding, head whirling. She was here. She was here. She was _here_.

Remus stumbled on the last step up.

His hand caught the balustrade, refraining his fall.

The hand that held his wand shook severely. He drew it against his chest and tried to catch his breath.

Looking up, though, his wand clattered softly to the planks of the pier below.

**A/N: I would just like to thank all my reviewers, and as long as I keep getting reviews, I'll keep updating:)**


	4. Surrounded By A Shoreless Sea

**Chapter Four: Surrounded By A Shorless Sea**

Remus always thought there was a sense of irony to life.

Not the sort of theatrical irony, loud as a bang and colorful as a rainbow, where everyone gasped and shrieked aloud because the stories weren't supposed to end that way. It was the sort of irony that crept up like an unexpected fog, wrapping its delicate fingers around your heart and suddenly crushing it with the obliterating power of iron. All that was leaft beging was the subtle sting of ice and no coherent thought in your head to think for comfort or for rage, for madness or despair. Nothing is left but a shocked sort of emptiness, and it's there because … well, because it just can't possibly be real.

Remus had felt like that eight times in his life.

The first time he was five years old. He was playing outside after dark, and he knew he shouldn't have been because his mother always told him so. They lived in the country out by the forests, wild and magical places where beasts just as wild and magical lived, and it was inportant to keep a vigilant eye out. But Remus was just a child then, and the greater worries of the world escaped him. He had liked to make his father chase him around the garden outside whenever he didn't feel like going in just yet, and often it took the warning and sometimes actual use of the water hose to get him to comply. He would often come in the house minutes later, dripping wet and utterly breathless, spent too much energy to giggle at the look on his mother's face, but left just enough to smile and hit the floor.

But on this particular time in question, his father was away on improtant work, and his mother was too busy at the time to remember to call him inside. Therefore, Remus remained outside on this occasion. He was a child plauged with constant curiosity, always getting himself into trouble; it seemed to be ingrained in his nature to disobey. He was told more than once never to go into the forest, but the curiousity he was born with would not leave him in peace that night without venturing out into the mysterious wilderness banked just on the edge of their backyard. Remus was less afraid of the dark that typical night because the grounds were covered with a dreamlike haze from the light of the moon – bright and full – in the cloudless sky above.

The walk was as long as it looked; it required crossing a wide, slightly sloping field that served as a border between their land and the forest, filled with patches of grass that reached as high as his knees (which wasn't really that high at all, considering how short he was then) and plots of mixed flowers, each a different color during the light of day, but all of them faux shades of blue under the deceptive moonlight.

Remus walked as leisurely as a child his age could, which was more of a broken run, with the occasional skip and leap added just for good measure. It didn't seem to take too long at the pace he was going. Remus reached the forest in only a few minutes, though it might have been slightly longer; he could never really tell. Now that it was close and only a couple of steps away, Remus wasn't so sure if he wanted to go inside. The trees were foreboding and large, looming high above him like great big warning signs, telling him to run away and go home with whispers as quiet as the wind. But Remus was always up for a challenge – if the trees wanted him to go home, he wasn't very well going to listen to them.

So he took a deep breath, held his chin up, and disappeared into the leaves.

The rest was always a bit foggy. He had been walking for quite a while, he knew. Very little moonlight pierced through the conopy of leaves, leaving a thick veil of darkness between him and the wild and twisted world around him. Shadows played across that veil, frightening him more than once and often in between. Still, he drew deeper into the forest, refusing to turn back so early on in his journey.

There were yellow eyes, he remembered. Bit yellow eyes staring out from the darkness, gazing at him dangerously – hungrily. He froze, fear tingling up his spine like a spider, settling itself somewhere on the back of his neck and making the hairs stand up on end.

He almost knew what was going to happen next.

Realization settled in his young mind, and with a slight gasp, he whirled around and ran. He ran and ran and ran and ran. Remus burst out from the trees, and once the house came into sight, he began screaming. He was sure his mother would hear him, or maybe his father had just come home and would surely rescue Remus before that _thing_ got him.

But Remus only got so far.

He was knocked over, a heavy weight holding him down. His leg twisted at an odd angle, and Remus cried aloud from the intense pain of it. Then _it_ came, swift and painful, and utterly unstoppable – the searing sting of a thousand sharp teeth biting deep, deep into his shoulder.

Then a loud _bang_ hit the sky, pounding his ears too loudly, too_ achingly_ to be natural, and the weight collapsed onto his back.

Remus would have liked to say that he blacked out, that the pain was too much for his young body to bear while conscious, or maybe that he was losing a lot of blood at the time and it caused him to pass out.

But either would have been a lie.

He screamed and cried for hours upon hours – as his father picked him up, as he was carried back home, as the mediwizard came by and took care of him – and he didn't stop choking and weeping until the doctor gave him a dreamless sleep draught for the night.

When he awoke the next day, his mother was asleep, her head and arms laying on the pillow across from his, and her body leaning against the mattress as she sat on the floor beside his bed. His father was awake in a chair nearby.

"Daddy?"

His father's head snapped to attention. He was beside his bed soon enough, and in the scramble to get there, he woke Remus's mother. Remus was afraid of the look in their eyes. He hadn't seen anyone look that sad before. And his mother's eyes were red – as if she'd been crying all night.

Remus didn't want to know what had happened. He was healing, he was getting better, and in a few weeks everything would be back to normal. Everything would be normal.

"I'm sorry, Mum," Remus said quietly. "I know you said never to go near the forest, but I couldn't help –"

She shushed him, reaching out to cradle his head in her arms. "I doesn't matter, Remus. It … nothing can be – can be changed –" She choked up, and Remus heard the unmistakable sound of a sob escape her.

"Mum?" he asked apprehensively, scared of her reaction.

Remus looked up at his father, the expression on his five-year-old face begging for an answer.

His father had a hard time keeping his voice steady as he spoke.

"You've … you've been bitten by a werewolf, Remus," he said quietly. "There's … nothing to stop it from spreading, and … there isn't a cure. You're …" His father finally lost his composure, and his voice cracked as it welled with emotion.

"…You're a werewolf now, son."

- - - - - -

Adjusting to being a werewolf was manageable, in the sense that Remus had manged to survive each time he changed.

His parents never stopped loving him, as most might have done when they discovered their child would change into a bloodthirsty monster once a month. Only children who were werewolves didn't morph into powerful adult wolves. They became baby wolves, actually somewhat cute and playful, and entirely harmless when it really came down to it – that is, as long as they didn't bite you, of course.

Still, Remus was beginning to learn the cruelties of the world, and it wasn't a pleasant experience, especially for one so young and innocent minded.

Which is why when he was eleven years old, he was very surprised to receive an owl from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

His mother clutched her heart as she held the open parchment. "My God …" she whispered. "John … John!"

"What is it?" Remus's father called from the other room. His tall form appeared in the open doorway, dark eyes gazing curiously at his wife.

"It's … it's from Hogwarts …" she whispered. "That … that magic school … right?"

John's eyes went wider, and he ran to his wife's side, grabbing the letter from her hands. He skimmed over the parchment, frozen disbelief marking his features.

"This … this can't be," he said quietly, his eyes still focused on the letter in his trembling hands.

"The Headmaster wants to speak to you about … about special arrangement … for letting him attend, John …"

"It can't be …"

His wife smiled, standing up from her chair and plucking the letter out of her husband's hands. He wrapped her arms around John, and suddenly shrieked with delight, "Our son's going to Hogwarts! _He's going to Hogwarts, John!"_

"Shh!" John warned, a bright grin breaking across his face as he hugged his wife back. "You're going to wake up Remus, honey …" Then he suddenly lifted up his wife, twirling her in his arms, and almost yelled, "Our boy's going to Hogwarts, Diane! He's going to _Hogwarts!"_

From the dark shadows, on the stairwell, Remus watched his parents embrace and laugh and thought about their words.

He, a werewolf, was going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He was going to Hogwarts.

- - - - - -

Remus was twelve years old, and life hadn't been better. He had three good friends, and they did everything together, bet he had been keeping a secret from them. A terrible secret. And they couldn't find out, but he was so afraid they would.

Which was why he was so careful to come up with excuses, plotting them out in detail before the three of them even began asking questions, and he always managed to fool them; they never failed to believe his carefully crafted words. He was sick, or someone had died, or his mother was ill, and sometimes his father was. It always changed from one thing to another, but they were all closely tied in. He was surprised they had never suspected anything thus far, but twelve year olds had other and better things on their minds than whether or not one their best friends was a werewolf, so Remus never encountered any problems … until That Day.

"Remus, where _were_ you last night?" Sirius prodded, his voice sounding irately whiny as usual – it must have been the Black blood in him, Remus guessed -- as he plopped himself down on the common room couch beside Remus, who was quietly studying his Transfiguration notes.

"I think I'm coming down with the flu," Remus replied, adding a cough for good measure. He didn't look up from his notes as Sirius inched away from him.

"Don't pass it to _me,_" Sirius said, looking at Remus warily.

"Don't worry," Remus said casually, "it's not the contagious kind."

"Oh, right." Sirius glanced at Remus sideways. "There's a non-contagious kind?"

"Oh yeah … didn't you know?"

Sirius gazed at him oddly for a moment, but it quickly passed. "Hey!" he said brightly, "You want to play a game of chess?"

"Um … sure, I guess."

"Great! I bought this new set a few weeks age and I've been dying for a reason to use it …"

Sirius practically ran out of the room. When he came back, he was carrying a case the size of the chessboard, but I bit too tall. Sirius set it down on the table and opened it up, revealing an intricate and _very_ expensive looking chessboard within. Its pieces were already standing upright, shining statues of gold and silver on the gleaming stone surface of grey and black squares. Sirius carefully lifted the board out of the box and placed it in the middle of the table. Remus, noticing the silver pieces on one side of the board, suddenly became very still.

"Are those real gold and silver?" Remus asked slowly, and Sirius simply grinned at him. His friend probably thought he was so poor he had never seen real gold and silver before.

"No," Sirius replied, sounding just slightly despondent about it, "but I wish they were. By the way, I'm gold!" Sirius had to turn the board to make this true. "Gryffindor color, and all. You get to be silver, for Slytherin, because you don't hate those slimy buggers as much as I do."

"Great," Remus replied dryly, but he wasn't thrilled with the idea. Then he remembered this was wizard's chess and he wouldn't have to touch anything. His heart suddenly lifted above its burden and Remus smiled. He put down his notes and slipped to the floor in front of the table across from where Sirius was seated.

"If they were real, it's been a shame to see them get whacked around," he joked.

Sirius suddenly beamed. "Ah, but this is a _Muggle_ chess set!" he exclaimed brightly, and the load that was lifted was suddenly dropped onto Remus's heart again and had trouble breathing. "I always wanted to get something Muggle! Mum and Dad would _kill me_ if they foung out!"

Remus thought Sirius sounded just a bit too happy about that.

"But … no, I don't think I can play–"

Better safe than sorry.

Sirius looked incredulous. "But you just said you would! You can't back out at the last minute, Remus – you're _playing_." And suddenly, before Remus could do anything, Sirius picked up one of the silver pieces and tossed it in his direction. Remus, out of reflex, caught it.

Nothing happened at first, but then there was a sudden burn, worse than fire – like _lava_ melting through his skin, and smoke was rising from Remus's clutched fist. His fingers suddenly sprung open and the silver pawn went flying, knocking into the other pieces on the board. Remus looked up and say Sirius's face – wide eyes, shock, surprise – then the realization … the fear … the horror. Remus quickly stood, bumping into the table, pieces went flying, and he fell into the sofa. Rising again, Remus made a run for it, out of the portrait hole and into the hall beyond. To where, he wasn't sure.

He spent that night in the Room of Requirement, surrounded by something that looked like his home because that's where he was going once morning came around.

Only when morning _did _come and Remus awoke, he found himself surrounded by the three of his friends: James, Peter, and Sirius. James was looking at him almost sadly, Peter was looking at him sadly, and Sirius … well, Sirius wasn't looking at him at all.

Remus didn't say anything, despite his shock, but he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He held his head high, kept his back tall and straight. He felt like he was awaiting their verdict of him in some trial. He tried not to let his anxiety show.

"I'm surprised we _found _you," James continued with a small smile, "so I guess it's thanks to him we managed to find you."

Remus looked at Peter, who in return smiled at him a bit timidly. He still smiled, though. Remus felt some of the weight leave his shoulders, but he wasn't about to get his hopes up.

Then the smile disappeared from James's face, but the words that came out of his mouth didn't follow the action.

"We're still your friends, Remus. We'll _always_ be your friends."

At this, Peter nodded fervently. "No matter what!" he squeaked in agreement.

"Friends," James said, and he held out his hand palm down. Peter placed his own, thought slightly trembling, on top of his friend's hand. There was a long moment of silence that followed, but Sirius finally looked down, avoiding their eyes, as he added his own hand to the pile.

Remus didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, but he reached out, laying his hand over Sirius's own. The other boy's head suddenly swiveled in his direction and looked at him – looked at him hard with piercing bright eyes that were angrier than Remus had ever seen.

Remus quickly withdrew his hand, as if touching Sirius stung him. He looked at the floor and slid away from them, feeling guilty, ashamed, humiliated, and saddened all at once. Remus could already feel his muscles trembling fro the exertion of trying to keep from sobbing. But he couldn't hold it back very long.

At least a minute had passed where Remus quietly sobbed and nobody approached him. He expected them to leave, to walk away and desert him – after all, why shouldn't they? He was a _werewolf_. He was a _monster! _And it wouldn't ever go away. Not ever.

So it would only make sense that they would.

Instead, however, Remus felt hesitant hands lay upon his shoulders, and the unexpected action caused him to suddenly go still.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Sirius whispered. "I … I just didn't understand." The grip of his hands tightened on Remus' shoulders. "Now … I guess I do."

- - - - - -

"Remus, I have some terrible news, I'm afraid," Albus said, looking at Remus over his half-moon spectacles. The usual twinkle in his eyes was not there in that moment. "James and Lily are … they are dead, Remus."

- - - - - -

Remus dropped the newspaper as if it had burnt him, as if it was made of silver or acid, and he watched it in horror as it fell to the floor.

The headline read, "Sirius Black Arrested for Mass Murder!"

- - - - - -

Sirius fell through the veil, and Remus only watched – only watched him like he watched that newspaper years and years ago as it fell from his hands.

"SIRIUS!"

Remus had only enough sense to grap Harry and hold him back – hold him back and keep him from joining Sirius wherever he was now.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry–"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"It's too late, Harry–"

"We can still reach him–"

Remus tightened his grip on Harry, refusing to let go.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry … nothing … He's gone."

- - - - - -

Remus trudged slowly, walking with the fear one had that you couldn't run because what had happened had already happened and your speed would do nothing to help change things. Harry was still, lifeless, and Remus knew he was dead.

But when he reached Harry's side and found no heartbeat and heard no breath, Remus still drew the boy into his arms like should have done when Harry was alive, but late was better than never.

Late was better than never, he told himself.

- - - - - -

Remus thought that same thought again once more as he stared down the pier through the misty, storm-congested sky.

The end of his roads always seemed to filled with death.

So it was a great surprise when he saw Hermione standing there, he back to him, the long curls of her brown hair whipping around in the torrential wind.

She was alive.

She was very much alive, in fact.

Life seemed incredibly ironic, indeed.


	5. Weightlessness Is Passing Over Me

**Chapter Five: Weightlessness Is Passing Over Me**

The wood was quiet beneath his feet as he walked. Every step he took felt like he was dragging the weight of a boulder behind him, and each step became harder to take; there were too many emotions assailing him at once. Remus wasn't used to it. It frightened him, and it terrified him. It was like being thrown into the middle of a whirlwind and flailing to grab ahold of something, but failing. He hadn't ever wanted to feel like that again. Remus had wanted control of his life; he'd wanted stability.

But Hermione wasn't going to allow that, was she?

Remus reached out for the balustrade as the wind picked up. He gripped it tightly, taking one step at a time both slowly and carefully. The end of the pier seemed almost so far away he wasn't sure that he wanted to walk any further, but his muscles defied his mind and kept on moving. A slight drizzle began to fall from the sky, and Remus felt it on his face, in his hair, on his hands, against his clothes. The softest rainfall of water droplets, cold and precise upon his nerves. He shivered.

The storm could've been moving in, or it could've been moving out. The truth was, Remus didn't really care, nor was he paying much attention. His silent footsteps halted behind Hermione's feet. Her hair was a tangled mess before him, and he almost reached out to touch it. Why, he wasn't sure. He probably wanted to make sure she was real; he'd been fooled before into expecting happy endings, and maybe this wasn't going to be a happy ending. He hadn't believed in them for so long….It was almost impossible for him not to doubt their existence in this world. And maybe they didn't really exist at all.

Remus wondered what he would say. He was sorry? He was wrong? He would really like for her to stay with him and keep him company? Tell him her secrets? Share with him her life? And could she please, please kiss him like that again?

Remus frowned. No, he couldn't say anything like that. It wasn't appropriate or–

Merlin, was he taking this train of thought again?

Remus almost wanted to scream to release all of the thoughts and emotions taking up residence in his head. The world had become nothing but a mix of grey and black and deep brown eyes, and he wanted to purge it from him mind and sort everything out like he could before–

Before this.

He opened his mouth, feeling the world ready to pour out of it, but all that came out was a single word….a single name.

"Hermione?" he said.

A sudden thought crossed Remus's mind – had his world suddenly become her? Perhaps it had and he hadn't realized it yet. What else did he have to live for now that everything else had been taken away from him? He had his home, his simple and plain Muggle job, and a bit of magic to show for. Nothing else. Remus hadn't had real friends in a long time, and a real family for even longer. Hermione was his turning point. Why didn't he reach out and embrace it?

And the name was already out there in the open, so there was no taking it back and turning around. Not now. Not when he could feel the sudden tension it ignited cut through the air and pierce straight into his heart, steeling him in place. The strain grew so thick around them that he could almost breath it in like musty humidity on a hot summer's day.

Hermione whirled around quickly. She probably thought speed was the best way to go about things, because if she went too slowly she might find the strength to stop. Remus knew the feeling.

But nothing prepared him for the look on her face.

It was like driving too fast down the road at night, and then suddenly taking a curb and finding himself staring into the fearful eyes of a deer caught in the headlights. He was caught by surprise, even if he knew it might happen sooner or later.

Only instead of swerving out of the way, Remus stumbled back a step.

He still wasn't used to this Hermione – this Hermione consumed by fear and dread, with her once cheerful and bright eyes now so hollow and dull. Remus wasn't used to seeing her hanging off the end of her rope. He wasn't used to her trying to touch him. He wasn't used to her grabbing at his belt buckle–

Remus blushed. Beneath a gentle rain of icy water, he blushed.

Hermione looked at him, clearly confused, but only for a moment. Lifting her head up and swallowing nervously, she fixed him with a pointed expression.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

Remus was surprised by her hasty anger and coldness towards him. He looked at her for a while, brows furrowed, and saw what he was searching for. She suddenly wavered under his gaze, and he knew then that she only said it because she had been hurt – he had humiliated her earlier, of course. Women tended to be wrathful about that sort of thing, especially in these types of situations. Remus had seen enough of Sirius's ex-girlfriends to know that.

"Hermione," he began quietly, "Hermione, don't be like that–"

"Don't be like that? Don't _be_ like that?" she hissed at him. "Well, then, how am I supposed to be, _Professor?_"

The title struck him unexpectedly. It hurt. It hurt to hear her call him that.

"That's not fair, Hermione–" Remus began, but she cut him off.

"Life's not fair, Professor," she replied crisply. "I thought we discussed this already."

"Stop calling me that."

"What?" Hermione asked innocently. "Professor?"

"Stop _calling_ me that, Hermione," he said a little more forcefully. "I haven't been your professor since–"

"Third _year_," she cut in fiercely, "I know. But since I'm still a student in your eyes, that rather fairly makes you my professor, doesn't it…._Professor?_"

There was that sting again, and Remus really didn't know what to say. She had a fair point, didn't she? But he wasn't here for petty arguments over what had previously happened between them. He was here to fix the damage he had unknowingly done to her. Hadn't he wanted to keep her from breaking, even if it meant breaking himself? Wasn't that what he had set out to do in the first place?

Wasn't it?

Remus felt his strength returning to him, and his boldness growing.

"Why are you making me out to be the big bad wolf, Hermione?" he asked suddenly asked. "You didn't even stop to view this from my side, did you?" He paused, waiting for her to defend herself, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She closed it again, and Remus nodded in understanding. "You just rushed into this headfirst," he said, "not thinking about the possible consequences and outcomes of your actions. I've suffered as much as you have, Hermione, and yet somehow you think that I could do something so rash, so thoughtless, and believe it'll make everything better, at the risk that it could swallow me whole?" He looked at her for a long moment, even after she turned away from him. "Have you really learned nothing about me after all these years?" Remus asked her quietly.

Hermione didn't answer. She wrapped her arms around herself, and fro the first time since he found her here, she looked….defeated. Hermione didn't try to hide it, but she didn't seem to want to face him either. Turning her back on him, she looked at the ocean again.

"Bravo," she said, her voice quiet. "Now you can go home with a clear conscience, I presume."

Remus could hardly believe what he was hearing.

Hermione wouldn't say that.

"Hermione…" he tried.

"Go home."

_This isn't happening,_ Remus thought. "Hermione–"

"Go _home_, Lupin."

"My name is Remus," he corrected her.

"Go home," she whispered.

Remus stared at the back of her head in disbelief, but he didn't move. "No," he finally said.

"_Go __home."_

"_No_," he said more firmly.

Hermione whirled around, and thunder rumbled in the sky somewhere above. "_GO HOME!_" she screamed at him, but Remus hardly flinched. Then she did the most unexpected thing – she bolted right at him, raising her clenched fists to his chest and catching him off his guard as she suddenly hit him. He stumbled, and seeing an opportunity, Hermione slammed her fists against him again and again and again. Remus struggled to grab hold of her arms as she swung at him, and finally he did. Hermione fought and fought, but his grip on her arms just tightened painfully until she let out a hurt cry and stopped swinging.

"Hermione," he tried to reason, "you need _help_–"

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO HELP!" she screamed at him. "YOU JUST KNOW HOW TO _ENDURE!_"

Remus froze as her words struck home.

She was right, wasn't she? To at least some extent? Sure, he tried to help and often gave advice, but usually he just listened, just endured whatever they had to say, and sometimes he'd have something to say that sounded somewhat wise and helpful, but really, wasn't he just trying to make them go away? Maybe if they took what he had to say to heart, they'd spend forever trying to figure it all out and he wouldn't have to deal with them again.

In that moment of weakness, Hermione broke free from his grasp and stumbled away. She was on the edge of tears, fighting them back uselessly no more. Remus was still processing her words, listening to the gears grinding in his head, but he had nothing to say this time. He had no helpful advice, no wise words, and no hopeful expression to repeat aloud. All the things he said…didn't he just say them for his own benefit? That one day, if he repeated them long enough, he might hammer them into his own head, and he might actually believe them himself.

But he never did believe them, did he? And Hermione finally saw through his facade, finally saw through his act that he hadn't known he'd been acting, and she'd exposed him to himself – a weak and withered aging man with nothing left to hope for and nothing left to lose but himself.

The rain came pelting down as the thunder rolled in the darkening sky above. Hermione drew her coat around herself, looked at Remus one last time as the rain mixed with the tears on her face, and she walked away. He watched her go, watched her legs carry her down the pier towards the main land again, and did nothing. Hermione didn't say goodbye, Remus didn't try to, and the storm said all the silent things that lied left between them.

Remus was watching the end of another road and feeling the drowning weight of another sorrow bearing down upon him like he had a million times before. Just watching and never acting, never trying to change anything, and never thinking he ever could. He never believed he had the power or the strength or the right to. The world could tip upside down, and Remus would say that was the way it was supposed to be while everyone else would try to push upright again.

He never tried.

He never thought he could.

He never believed enough in himself.

But most of all, behind all the self-doubt and lack of faith, he just didn't think he was meant to be happy.

Was he?

As he walked away, the world began to darken and close in around him again, and Remus almost let it.

Almost.

He walked at first, steady and stable steps on after the other, until he found himself running and running and racing against the wind. Beneath the rumble of thunder in his ears, he could hear his shoes clanking against the planks. Hermione must have heard them, too, for she suddenly stopped and turned around. Remus ran until he reached her, the abruptly stopped. He was breathing in heavily, trying to catch his breath, as he watched her watching him. She was waiting for him. Waiting for him to say something.

"Stay with me," he suddenly said. "For God's sake, just stay with me. You can sleep in my bed, and I'll–"

"I can't," Hermione whispered.

"Of course you can. You're a grown woman–"

"I _can't_," Hermione repeated more firmly. Remus stared at her curiously, not comprehending. Then, as it dawned on him, his eyes grew wide and he let out a silent "Oh."

Remus quickly went to shake his head. "Hermione, don't worry about it. It was just a misunderstanding. You were lonely and I understand that–"

But the look on her face just seemed to twist into one of pure anguish.

"You are so _blind,_" she uttered in disbelief. "You are just so bloody _blind_–"

And she was walking away from him again.

Remus was frozen in his place, and everything abruptly went silent except for the noise in his mind. He was blind? Blind? Blind to what? What in the world was Hermione talking about now–

And suddenly, as it hit him, Remus couldn't breathe.

He couldn't bloody breathe.

_No._

_Good Merlin in Heaven, _no.

Things like this just didn't happen to him. The just _didn't._

Loneliness he could understand. Comfort he could understand. Even _substitution_ he could understand, but…

She couldn't have been.

She _couldn't._

"Hermione!" Remus called aloud, "Hermione, wait!"

He ran to catch up with her once again, but this time she wasn't stopping. He could barely see her through the thick rain that fell around them, but he could see that she wasn't turning around.

"Hermione! Please! Wait!"

She wasn't listening to him. Hermione picked up her pace; she was running from him now.

But once she had made it to the steps, he had already caught up with her. Remus seized her arm from behind and tugged her back onto the pier. Hermione almost fell into him, but he grabbed her other shoulder and she had found her balance again. Hermione didn't even try to break free of his grasp, though; she just whirled around – maybe to attack him or smack him or yell at him – the truth was, he never found out.

Because he kissed her.

Their limbs were tangled together awkwardly, but Remus found a very locking position that allowed him to slip an arm around her waist. His lips were slanted against hers, wet with cool raindrops, and his tongue darted out to softly lick them away. She shivered underneath the touch, and he felt her lips parting beneath his. Remus slipped his other hand behind her head, pressing her mouth to his and deepening the kiss. She molded against him, all wet clothes and cold skin, but…positively lovely. He didn't want to let her go, he didn't want to face what she would do to him when this ended, so he clutched onto her desperately until he just couldn't breathe.

Remus pulled away reluctantly, him warm lips cooled off by the falling rain, but the heat from Hermione still lingered in his mouth. He closed it, wanting to keep the feeling fro as long as he could.

"Stay," he whispered, hoping she would understand all the different meanings held in that one single word.

Hermione looked away, and he could imagine what was going on in her head, but as least she didn't try to escape from his grasp. "I can't, Remus. You…you don't–"

"I could," he said anxiously, taking her chin carefully between his thumb and forefinger and tilting her face up, so he could look her in the eyes. "I could if you'd let me, Hermione. There's more than enough to build from–"

"But you don't," she answered softly, sadly. Her brown eyes gazed back at his, pained.

He didn't know what to say, but the thought of losing Hermione created a gap almost too wide to jump. He was afraid to see how big it would actually be if he did lose her.

"Maybe I do, but I haven't realized it yet," Remus supposed, his arm tightening around her almost desperately.

Hermione didn't answer.

"I won't say it until I know for sure," Remus went on, plunging into deeper territory inside of himself than he'd done in a long, long time, "but just because I can't say it yet doesn't mean I don't care about you. It doesn't mean I don't feel something for you. Because I do, and I'm really, really afraid of losing that feeling. Please…Hermione…" He felt as if he was stripped bare, and the feeling was unbelievably frightening. Any moment...any moment the whip would come down…

"What if you get tired–" Hermione began, but Remus cut her off.

"I'm not everyone else, Hermione," he assured her softly. "Haven't you understood at least that by now?"

She rested her head against his chest, and he could feel her fingers clutching his jacket. He just wanted to stay like that…just like that…

"I love you," she whispered so quietly he barely heard her.

Remus held her closer in assurance, but the words hurt…they hurt because he couldn't say them back. He couldn't say them back just yet. Not until he was sure…not until he really knew what he felt.

So he settled for, "I won't let you go, Hermione. I promise I won't."

She seemed happy enough with that.

For now.

**A/N: Please read and review!**


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